Conclusions
by IlanaNight
Summary: Weddings are something neither Sherlock nor Moriarty could comprehend, but that doesn't mean they can't share a waltz outside the bounds of that dreaded party.


"You know, Sherly, it's bad luck to leave early from a wedding." The lilting voice came from a figure leaning on a nearby tree, bathed in just enough light to identify himself.

"You know, Jim, it's bad manners to attend a wedding you're not invited to, and without a gift no less." Sherlock's tone was dark and mocking. He wasn't in the mood for playing games with a man who should be dead. Nonetheless, the detective walked toward Moriarty, curious about his presence despite himself.

Moriarty was dressed in his usual attire, black suit tailored and pressed to perfection. To passerby, he looked to be a guest at the wedding who had stepped out for some air, but Sherlock knew better. For a moment, the detective wondered how Moriarty had known the wedding date before he dismissed the thought. Even now, it seemed, there was little Moriarty didn't know.

"Why are you here, Moriarty? Don't you have a web to be spinning?" There was the slightest hint of a sardonic smile on Sherlock's face, and he felt traces of a twisted pride for the havoc he'd wreaked on Moriarty's network.

Moriarty ignored the jibe, answering only the first part of the question, "Weddings are curious things. I wanted to see one for myself, see if it made any more sense afterward." His shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug.

"And your conclusion/" Sherlock's curiosity was winning out, bringing him closer to Moriarty. He wanted to know what the man who was so similar to himself thought of this concept of marriage.

"I havent decided yet, there's more yet I have to observe." A short chuckle assed Moriarty's lips, a smirk lingering afterwards, "Or perhaps I should say more to experience."

Sherlock's eyebrow raised and he stopped a couple feet from the shorter man, head tilted to the side in a gesture of confusion, "There's not much left now, the ceremony is over,, speeches have been made, a man almost died, the cake was cut. What's left for you to experience through the glass, Jim?"

"You should be able to figure it out, great detective. It's the same part of this whole occasion you have yet to take part in." Dark eyes wandered over to focus on the dancers who were visible through the windows.

Sherlock's expression soured before he schooled it back to blankness. Trust Moriarty to remind him of the last factor that had contributed to his leaving the wedding. "The part I am not going to participate in. The world in that room is not one I am welcome in. I've realised that."

The taller man turned, intent once again on leaving, but Moriarty's hand snaked out to catch his wrist, tugging Sherlock back. Moriarty's voice dropped to a whisper as he leant up to speak directly into Sherlock's ear, "I wasn't suggesting returning to them, my dear."

Blue eyes widened and then narrowed in suspicion as he turned to face Moriarty. The criminal stood up straight, offering his hand to the detective, palm up. The music that filtered over from the reception had slowed, another waltz.

"Would you care for a dance, Sherlock?" A smile quirked up the edges of Moriarty's mouth as he put the suggestion into words.

Sherlock turned the words over in his head, trying to find an ulterior motive behind them. He could see that Moriarty hadn't come to kill him, doing so would be both painfully obvious and dull by the criminal's standards. But he wouldn't go through all the trouble just for a dance, would he?

From the insistent expression on Moriarty's face, it seemed that he had. With a sigh, Sherlock took Moriarty's hand, placing it on his shoulder. If he was doing this, he would lead. It was how he had practiced, after all. He took Moriarty's other hand in his own, letting the other hand find its place at Moriarty's waist.

A chuckle of light amusement escaped the criminal's lips, "Going to make me your lady for the evening, are you? I suppose I'll make do with that."

There was a moment of hesitance on Sherlock's part, but soon the music had him swaying, leading Moriarty in a circle on the grass outside the reception hall.

Once they started, the dance was smooth. Both men were well versed in the steps, with no nervousness to trip them up. It also seemed that their similarities in mind carried over to how they danced, making it easy for either to predict the other and move accordingly.

As the music faded out and was replaced with something quicker again, the two men who had called each other enemy looked into each other's eyes. Moriarty's smile lingered, more genuine now, and a bit of light had crept into Sherlock's eyes during the course of their dance. Though they stopped dancing, neither pulled away. It felt peaceful, standing like this, as if something had finally gone right for them.

Sherlock felt a need to break the silence, he needed to think about the emotions dancing with Moriarty had unleashed. "So, have you come to a conclusion, Jim?"

Dark eyes blinked, brows furrowing for a moment before he remembered their earlier conversation. He laughed softly to himself, shifting his fingers so that they were entwined with Sherlock's, "I do believe I have."

He stopped there, and Sherlock huffed, an expression of minute petulance on his face, "Well, do you feel like sharing with the class?"

Moriarty looked back to Sherlock, meeting his eyes with a grin, "I still think weddings are pointless," something in Sherlock cracked. The dance had meant nothing to Moriarty then. He should have known, the other wasn't known for his empathy. The shorter man wasn't done speaking, though, "But, I'd attend a thousand weddings if it meant I could dance with you at every one."

Surprise coloured Sherlock's expression before a smile tugged at his lips as well, "I'd have to say that I reached the same conclusion, Jim."

When their mouths met, it was a mutual action. No one initiated the kiss, or perhaps they both did. Either way, Moriarty found himself on his toes, Sherlock's arm around his waist holding him up as the detective leant down to cover the remaining distance between them.

By the time they'd pulled away for breath, both men were flushed. The party still blazed on behind them, but they were unaware of it, lost in each other. And, maybe that's how it was always meant to be.


End file.
